


The Ballad of Emma and Killian

by profdanglais



Series: Secret Things [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Actor!Killian, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, Fluff, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, rockstar!Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: They aren’t famous when they meet, or when they fall in love. As the years go by and their careers flourish along with their fame, their love endures.





	The Ballad of Emma and Killian

**Author's Note:**

> This began life as a little drabble of rockstar!Emma and actor!Killian--not my favourite trope but I thought I’d give it a try. And then @thisonesatellite FORCED me to actually like it and once I did it kept getting bigger and bigger until it became DRABZILLA and had to go in Secret Things instead. SO. 
> 
> Part 8 of Secret Things. This one is really very sweet. Struggling young artists in love stick together through the hard times until the good ones come. A little slice of life with just the teensiest little bit of Neal being an asshole and getting what-for.

They’re not famous when they meet. Her band is still playing bars and clubs and he’s barely managed to scrape a few minor roles in local theatre. They’re not famous, but they see the potential in each other. 

“You’re brilliant with that,” he tells her, nodding at the guitar she’s slung over her shoulder. He’s had just enough to drink to give him the confidence to speak to her but not so much that he’s going to tell her he came here tonight expressly to see her play. 

“Oh yeah?” She has her eyes on the barman mixing her drink, doesn’t look at him until she’s got it in her hand. “Do you—” Her eyes widen when she turns towards him, and a smile tugs the corner of her mouth as she slowly takes him in. “—play?” she finishes finally. 

He’s grinning wide, flattered and more than a little turned on by her bold appraisal. “Only a few chords,” he says. “I’m an actor mostly.” 

“Of course you are.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re really pretty. I bet those eyes show up well on camera.” 

“I wouldn’t know, love, I’ve not managed to land anything that requires a camera quite yet.” 

“You will.” 

They end up in her hotel room, a nondescript place on the Lambeth Road. She shrugs and says she’s got far better things to spend her money on than somewhere to sleep, then proceeds to make that dingy room the most memorable place he’s ever been. 

The next morning she has to head off early, to Manchester for her next gig. He walks her to the tube station and kisses her in front of it, then pulls back, memorising her face. 

“Nice to meet you, Emma Swan,” he says. 

She smiles. “And you, Killian Jones.” 

—

Emma plays a dozen gigs in Manchester and word begins to get out. On the band’s last night in town an A&R rep is in the audience, and when she wakes up the next morning she has a record deal. She should be happy, she knows; she _is_ happy, _thrilled_ in fact, but she can’t get those blue eyes out of her head, or the wistful note in his voice when he said her name. 

She goes back to London, back to the pub where they met. She goes with no hope or expectation, and when she sees Killian there at the bar her heart leaps and when she sits beside him and he grins in delight she feels like she’s come home. 

—

“I have a record deal,” she tells him, after. 

His whole face lights up. “That’s brilliant!” he says. “You’re brilliant.” 

She flushes at the praise and he takes her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “Emma,” he says, looking around the bland room they’re in. “Nothing against your taste in hotels, love, but I wonder if you would care to see my flat. It’s not much but it’s better than here.” 

It is. He lives in the attic of an old house, fitted with a tiny kitchen and tinier bathroom, and a bed that folds out from the faded sofa. 

“A garret!” She laughs. “Perfect for a starving actor.” 

“That’s exactly the aesthetic I was going for,” he says, laughing with her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “It suits an emerging musician as well.” 

She snuggles into his side. It does. 

—

They get married in a simple ceremony at the Southwark registry office; far too soon, his brother says with frowning disapproval and her parents Skype them from Maine to say the same, but they don’t care and they don’t listen. They are sure of each other, and deeply in love. 

The first few years are hard. Emma has to tour to promote her album and Killian takes every acting job he can, always hoping the next one will be his big break. The album is a huge success and the tour is extended; she is exhausted and burnt out and misses her husband, but she loves her music and the thrill of performing for the huge crowds, and they call each other every day, no matter what. His unwavering support keeps her going. 

—

Her fame grows and she begins to do interviews, answering probing questions about her music and her life. The interviewers don’t ask her if she’s married and she doesn’t volunteer the information. She doesn’t wear her wedding ring onstage —she doesn’t like anything on her fingers when she plays— and she allows people to keep the conclusions they draw. The interviews appear online and on television, and soon Killian starts to hear people talking about her. He beams with pride whenever someone says they like her music, and when the remarks touch on the personal he simply shrugs them off. People can be assholes, but he knows his wife. 

When her tour finally finishes they take a vacation— a month in the Seychelles, just the two of them in a beach hut with crystal blue water stretching out to the horizon. It is pure bliss; she unwinds for the first time in more than a year, and by the time they’re back in London the two of them are expecting a third. She tells her manager she’s taking a break to write some new songs and spends the next year in their tiny attic flat, playing her guitar and growing her baby, and watching her husband perform in his first lead role on the West End. People keep to themselves in the neighbourhood where they live, and if anyone recognises ‘the cultural heir of Nancy Wilson crossed with Jack White’ or ‘British theatre’s fastest-rising star’ the tabloids are not informed. 

They have never been happier. 

—

They’ve been married nearly five years when Killian’s big break finally comes. He lands a role in an American TV show and brings his family with him when he moves to Boston for filming. Emma’s on tour again but she Skypes him and the kids —they have two of them now— in their new place and tells them she can’t wait to be there. She tells him in private that his eyes look great on camera, as she always knew they would.

His new costars know he’s married, of course, he talks about his wife a lot but refers to her only as ‘Emma,’ a common enough name that no one thinks anything of it. The show is a breakaway hit and he finds himself suddenly famous, suddenly the focus of more female attention than even his handsome self is accustomed to, and fielding interview questions more probing than any he’s encountered before. He doesn’t hide his wedding ring but he also doesn’t mention who his wife is. His marriage is private, and there’s enough scrutiny on his personal life as it is. 

—

“You know who I’d really like for this role?” the lead showrunner says to Killian one day, discussing a new character being introduced in the show’s third season. “Emma Swan. Do you think she’d be interested in getting into acting?” 

He chokes on his coffee. “How would I know?” he asks cautiously. 

The showrunner shrugs. “I know you’re a fan of hers,” he says. “I’ve seen your Spotify. Anyway, it’s pure speculation. I think she has the perfect look for the character, but I’ve got no idea if she can act.” 

“Well, I’d love to work with Emma Swan,” says Neal Cassidy, the show’s secondary male lead. “Whether she can act or not, she’s a hell of a piece of ass. Nothing hotter than a chick who plays guitar.” 

Killian concentrates hard on not punching the man in his leering face. He’s had to listen to a lot of people talk about how hot his wife is over the years and most of the time it doesn’t bother him, even when the remarks veer into the lewd. But he’s never really clicked with Cassidy, and the idea of the smug arsehole trying it on with Emma makes his blood boil. 

“If she does join the show, I’m sure one way she’ll act is professionally,” he says stiffly. “And I’d hope the rest of us would too.” 

“Oooh hooo,” says Neal in a taunting singsong. “Someone’s got a little crush.” 

Killian gets up from the table and tosses his coffee cup in the trash with deliberate control. “If anyone needs me I’ll be in my trailer,” he says. 

—

“I had an interesting call from my manager today,” says Emma over dinner that night. “Apparently I’ve had an offer to read for a part on your show.” 

“Yeah,” Killian replies. “Bob was telling me he thinks you’d be perfect for the role. What do you think?” 

She shrugs. “Acting’s really your thing. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes.” He’s sure she means this, but there’s a wistfulness in her voice and he knows she’s getting tired of all the touring and would love something more stable that didn’t take her away from their kids. 

He reaches across the table to take her hand. “You wouldn’t be, love, you know that,” he says, smiling at her. “If this is something you really want to try, you should try it.” 

She smiles back, warm and soft. Her smile will be great on camera. “I think I will then,” she says. 

“Good.” 

She squeezes his hand. “I love you, Killian Jones.” 

“And I you, Emma Swan.” 

—

“Hey, hey, did you see her?” Neal elbows him in the ribs and once again Killian has to suppress the desire to respond with his fist. 

“Who?” he asks, though he knows the answer. 

“Emma Swan, bruh. She’s meeting with Bob right now. She walked right by me on the way to his office and lemme tell you, she’s _even_ hotter in person, if you can believe it.” 

He thinks of his wife as he saw her that morning, all messy hair and tired eyes, cradling their youngest in her arms and singing softly to her as she nursed. “I can believe it,” he says. 

“Hair like that, man, you just wanna wrap it around your fist and pull—” Killian turns his back and stalks away before he can hear what Neal wants to pull, reminding himself firmly that beating up a costar is frowned upon in the industry, and he _would_ like to work again once this show ends. 

He goes to his trailer and waits for Emma to finish her audition. Ten minutes later she slips through the door, flushed and glowing, and walks straight into his arms. 

“How did it go?” he asks, as if he can’t read the answer on her face. 

“They want me to start filming next week,” she replies, and her smile is radiant. 

“That’s brilliant!” He hugs her close, grinning into her hair. “You’re brilliant.” 

She leans back, studies his face. “And you’re sure you don’t mind, babe? I can still say no—” 

“Absolutely not, you’ve earned this and Bob’s right, the character is perfect for you. Though it does mean we’ll probably have to tell people we’re married.” 

She laughs. “Well, it’s been eight years now, I guess it’s about time we came clean. Plus it’s not like it’s a secret as such, it’s just something we’ve never told anyone before.” 

He joins in her laughter and then he kisses her, a sweet, soft kiss that soon turns hot. She’s never visited him on set before, of course, and he finds himself overwhelmed by the desire to make love to her here, in this place where he has spent long days of filming sitting alone and missing her. 

He lifts her onto the back of his armchair, pushing her skirt up her thighs so he can stand between them. She wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and grinds against him. They are lost in each other —this is how it’s always been between them— and neither of them hears the door to the trailer open or senses Neal’s slack-jawed presence until he manages to close his mouth and find his voice. 

“Son of a _bitch!_” he yells. 

Emma and Killian break apart and turn to glare at the intruder. 

“What the fuck, man?” shouts Neal. “Aren’t you _married_?”

“Aye, mate.” Killian is fuming, his jaw clenched and his eyes like shards of ice. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife. This is Emma.” 

Neal chokes and his eyes go wide as he clearly tries to remember just how disgustingly offensive he’s been about Emma Swan. 

“Look, man,” he stutters. “I’m sorry—” 

“No you’re not,” says Killian coldly. “But you are unwelcome. Kindly fuck yourself off now so my beautiful wife can fuck me.” He turns back to Emma, who pulls him in and resumes their kiss. 

Neal stumbles and nearly falls as he backs out of the trailer, still stuttering apologies, but they are too busy tearing off each other’s clothes to notice. 

—

They weren’t famous when they met, or when they married. But they are when they announce their relationship to a press and a public that _goes mad_ over it. They’re at the top of every gossip site and trending on every social media network. Offers of joint interviews come pouring in, all of which they decline, which —people and the internet being what they are and what it is— only adds to their mystique. They are the story of the decade— for nearly an entire week, until Neal gets caught soliciting a prostitute who turns out to be an undercover cop, and everyone forgets about Emma Swan and Killian Jones. 

Which is just the way they like it. 


End file.
